Reawakening

She takes a deep breath and steps off the back porch, into the downpour. So many years spent trying to acquire wisdom, and in the end it all gets washed away. Can it be that blindness is the only comfort left to us, that silent roar? Daily life, with all its discontent and disappointment, seems like all that’s real enough to hold her. Yet she’s always known that wasn’t enough.

She looks up into the sky, tastes the sulfur on the air, and hears the crackle of lightning, the very potency of its sound stinging her bare shoulders. She smiles and, very slowly, feeling her bare feet pressing into the pavement, begins to strip away her clothes. For the moment, this is all that matters: she can’t atone for everyone’s sins, has only begun to comprehend her own. But now they fall away with stunning clarity, vanishing the moment that they brush the ground. She tastes the salt on the tip of her tongue before she knows she is crying. And the knowledge of that makes her laugh, a harsh, dry chuckle that is lost in the sound surrounding her. 

One by one, she peels back her soaked white t-shirt, sports bra, shorts, throwing them to the ground and running till they are out of sight. She spins, spins, feeling the awe and delight of new sensation, and then stands still, illuminated by the glow of the storm and the rain on her upturned face. It washes her clean, pools up around her ankles, blots out what has been. 


Dedicated to Laura G. H., who dances in the rain.